Lover I don't have to love
by bbjmet
Summary: Yes, its one of those stories where poor Mark gets all the angst but it's not what you think.
1. Prologue

**Lover I don't have to love**

**Summary: **Yes, something bad happens to Marky, but it's definitely not what you think. Slightly AU. Eventual M/R.

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading this! Yes, it's very short and vague but I hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own.

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**The Prologue **

Mark's POV

December 14, 1991

_When Roger used to tell me I hide behind my camera, I would scoff and tell him to look at himself before he tried to point out my flaws. He'd grin slightly , still remaining serious, and say, in that cocky way he has about everything, that he looked at himself quite often and knew every single one of his flaws and had learned to embrace them fully instead of pushing them away. _

"You of all people know that everyone has their issues, Mark, but you won't admit to having a single one. You're Mr. 'I'm fine and I don't need any help'. Seeing you like this is driving me crazy and I just really want you to talk to me."

He was looking me straight in the eyes desperately as he said this. I kept my head down in a effort to keep him from seeing anything. I don't want him invading my thoughts like this. Those green eyes are like telescopes and everything I have inside I've kept very well hidden.

"There's nothing to talk about Roger. What happened happened and I just need to get past it, okay?"

Of course, my typical way of dealing with anything is to just brush it off. I didn't even believe myself as I said it and he didn't either. Roger really knows me very well, almost too well. Like when he had finally found me outside in the rain, crying like a blubbering idiot and saying something about how much we needed all the money but it was just too hard. He had looked at me just like he is now and wrapped his arms around me tightly, apologizing over and over, like any of it was somehow his fault.

"I know you do but you're not going to do this alone. I'm not going to let you."

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**A/N: **Love it? Hate it? It won't hurt my feelings, just let me know! :) Oh, and if you have a better idea for a title just let me know, the one I have now isn't permanent.


	2. Chapter 1: Nothing gets crossed out

**A/N: **Thanks so much for the reviews. It really is greatly appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own.

**Chapter 1: **

_"Nothing gets crossed out"_

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_Yeah, Roger is my best friend but he's more than that too. He's my favorite subject, my muse. When I decided to quit my job at Buzzline to finish my film, all I wanted to do was film him playing his guitar and writing songs. Something so beautiful had to be captured. I didn't care about hiding my feelings behind this old and broken camera just as long as I could take it all in, even though it hurt like hell._

"You need money, I need a dealer. Easy as that. Now you going to do it or not? I don't have all goddamn day."

The Man. Does he need a name?. Does he have one? It makes it easier to do this if names aren't even mentioned. You can't pretend it's not happening no matter how hard you try however it doesn't need to be personal. But with Roger, Mimi and April's pasts all running through my head, it already is. I can barely look at him because all I can see are the lives he has probably destroyed. Resorting to this was never on my list for a second, but here I am in Central Park trying to look unsuspicious. I realized I need money more than anything else and all I have left is hope that this will get me plenty.

"Yeah, Yeah I'll do it, just give it to me."

He hands the clear plastic bag over to me, heavy with smack and my own guilt, as I try my hardest to keep from running from him and from what I'm doing. It was just too smooth of a transaction for something that's clearly not. And now I have to figure out how to sell this shit which isn't exactly something you can learn in a handbook. I guess I could call up some of Roger's old friends. He doesn't talk to any of them anymore so there's no way he could find out. Him finding out would mean the end of everything. I can't even imagine the look on his face if he did. I'd just be another person breaking his trust.

"Mark Cohen, my man, what's happening!?"

I hear him coming from twenty feet away. It's Adrian, one of Roger's former bandmates, here to get some of what made Roger kick him out of the band for good. I knew he would be ready and willing to just get this over with. But more importantly I know he won't tell anyone. I grab his hand and hug him back, my hand almost tangled in his long dreads as he slips a 20 in my pocket.

"Not too much Adrian, what's up with you these days?"

I can still be friendly even when I'm selling poison. I hand over the tiny baggie in a handshake and look around carefully down each side of the alley.

"Chill out, man, it's all good." He smiles and pockets the drug. "I've been really busy trying to get a band together. Any chance Roger would-"

"No. He wouldn't." He also wouldn't want me here right now either.

"Uh, Ok then. Alright, I'll be seeing you then." He turns and walks away, lighting up a cigarette before turning the corner. I don't want him to be seeing me.

I don't want to be here sitting on the ground in an alleyway next to trashcans looking like a fool, but then again I've always had to do what I don't want to. Like date all the girls my parents set me up with or have to just watch all my friends wasting away. I don't feel like a drug dealer but it's what i'm forcing myself to do. Maybe I really am some kind of martyr, or maybe just a masochist.

I finally manage to get back up to the loft after my short but awkward drug deal and Roger is sitting on the couch quietly strumming. I take off my scarf and sit next to him, grabbing my camera.

"Why didn't you take it with you when you left earlier?"

He looks up at me with confusion and worry. Two things I despise, especially coming from him. I hadn't brought my camera along because for once there was nothing I wanted to film. I'm doing something I never want to remember.

"I just needed to take a walk and think. I really had nothing to film today."

I could have done better than that, I know, but if I'm going to lie to Roger, I'd rather do a bad job of it. I can feel my insides just screaming at me for decieving him.

"I've just never seen you leave without it. Is something wrong?"

He stopped strumming and looks at me very seriously. Honestly, Roger, too many things, way too many things. One of them being you worrying about me. What I'm doing has the potential for absolute destruction and I don't deserve the tiniest bit of concern.

"No, Roger, of course not. No need to worry, I promise."

I try to sound as convincing as possible. Which I'm pretty good at these days. I guess I'm really becoming a soulless drug dealing asshole of a friend. He still gives me that look though before he goes back to strumming his favorite guitar. The one that says _I accept that...for now. _I'm really hoping he can't see right through me, because then there would be no point to this at all. It wouldn't be worth food or heat or medicine or anything.

"I wish we had some money. I'm starving."

Relief floods through me like a tidal wave when I see him make the cutest little pouting face.

"I have a 20 right here. Let's go to the Life Cafe."

You would have thought he won the lottery.

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**A/N: Like it, Love it, Hate it? I'd really love to know. Oh and Chapter 2 is longer I promise.**


	3. Chapter 2: A few minutes on Friday

**A/N: **Thanks so much again for the reviews. This chapter is kind of long (over 1,000 words). Sorry if that bothers you!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, but if you'd like to make an offer I'm more than interested :)

**Chapter 2:**

_"A few minutes on Friday"_

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_I only want the one thing I shouldn't. It's really simple. Roger's something forbidden. Someone I shouldn't even be considering. Mimi had shattered Roger's world- one that had just been glued back together. I wasn't going to be another Mimi or another April. I'm not selfish like that._

_..._About two weeks later...

"Yes, you've been a very good customer, Scott, but I can't give it to you if you're not going to pay me."

I'm trying my very hardest to be forceful with him, but when a three hundred pound man covered in tattoos is glaring at you from about 6 inches above your head, it's not the easiest thing to do. He's grabbing my shirt. I'm trying not to scream.

"I'll make you give it to me, you little prick."

He lifts me up about two inches and slams me against the jagged brick wall. Hard. I really think I'm losing consciousness as he shoves his hand in my jean pocket and removes all the contents. He doesn't find what he's looking for.

"Where is it?"

He's pressing me against the wall and I don't think I can answer him because my lungs are refusing to exhale. I magically manage to speak.

"Let me down and I'll get it out for you, I promise."

I sound shockingly calm but completely breathless. This has never happened before, I guess it was only time though.

"Like I'm falling for that one. Do you think I'm that fucking stupid?"

He's pressing against me with what I hope is his full strength now. Is that a bone cracking? I think I'm very terrified.

"No, of course not. You just need to let me down so I can get it out of my jacket. I can't reach it with you holding me up like this."

He makes a strange noise and throws me to the ground. I don't hit my head and I really want to thank God for that but I'm sure God isn't on my side right now. I rummage in my jacket's inside pocket and pull out the bag and a smaller empty one. I'm shaking and I don't know when I started doing so. I stand up with my knees quivering.

"How m-much did you want again?"

He grabs the whole bag and punches me hard on the cheek. I can't keep my balance and I'm on the cold, wet ground again. But I'm up again in seconds, suddenly furious.

"Just fucking go, alright?! You got what you wanted. Leave me alone!"

And with a nice kick to the shins, he throws the small bag down, suddenly about half full.

"You look like you need some fun but don't dare think about trying to steal my business again, kid."

I want to lunge after him as he walks away but I know I'll just get myself more hurt and I already have a lot to explain. He took all my supply for the rest of the month. I could've had 300 or 400 more dollars if it wasn't for him. Why'd he even bother giving me what he did? It's barely going to get me anything.

I walk back to the loft after a while, trying not to limp, and I am relieved to find Roger isn't here. Shockingly there is a bit of warm water and I take a quick shower, scrubbing my skin raw. I've never felt more filthy and disgusting than I have these past few weeks. My bruises hurt the second I touch them with the sponge though and I'm really just a giant ache.

I get out of the shower and look at my face in the mirror. There's a bruise on my right cheek where Scott hit me and a cut on the top center of my forehead. I look rough in every since of the word. My body looks like a very bad and messy painting with big grey bruises and pink scratches. The sickest part of this to me isn't the fact that I got hit in a drug deal gone wrong, but knowing that as soon as it happened I knew what I was going to tell Roger. Lying has become just as easy as breathing. And now with these bruises, it might be easier.

-

Roger comes home about an hour later with food from a Chinese restaurant down the street. I'm working on some editing and as soon as he sees me he asks about my face.

"This guy tried to mug me. No big deal."

I sit on the couch and grab a cup of rice, proving my point.

"You looked pretty banged up, are you sure it's no big deal?"

He sits next to me on the couch and examines my cut. I hate when he sits this close to me. I fear he might really touch me, something I can't handle.

"Of course I am. This is New York, Roger. People get mugged all the time, you know that."

I lean back against the couch, away from him, stretching my legs to the coffee table.

"Yeah I know that but you're so damn secretive now, Mark. Don't think I don't notice. Does this have anything to do with money? You seem to always have some now."

"No, it's not money. I told you, I just had to fight him off."

This isn't going quite as smoothly as I wanted it to. But nothing really is today. I eat some more rice and try to avoid looking at him without looking like I'm avoiding looking at him.

"I'm going to figure out what's going on, Mark. Please just tell me."

"There's nothing to tell, Roger. Really."

I smile at him slightly. He just shakes his head so I try changing the subject.

"So, what have you been doing all day?"

"If you tell me, I'll tell you."

He eats some noodles and looks at me, full of expectation and frustration. I can't let him fish it out of me, because I know as well as he does that he's fully capable of doing so.

"Don't be a child, Roger. There's nothing going on."

His eyes grow dark with anger and complete assurance.

"Oh, I'm the child. How about you, Mark?! Sneaking around like a 5 year old! You can't even be an adult and tell me what's going on!"

He's standing now and running his hands through his golden hair. I don't want to make him pace like this. I stand and meet his gaze, trying my hardest to keep staring into his eyes.

"I'm sorry Roger, ok. Just calm down."

I gently grab his arm and smile.

"I don't want to calm down, Mark. I hate this so much. You're acting so different and suddenly there's money and you're not saying much anymore. You're my best friend. I just want- "

There are tears rimming his eyes as he turns and starts walking to his room. I want to go after him and beg him to let me know what he wants. I can't stand his tears. They bring out my own. His door closes softly and mine does too shortly after.

I get the coke from under my mattress, suddenly remembering what Scott said. _You look like you need some fun. _He gave it to me so I could get high. It's just enough for me and maybe a bit left to sell. Sorry Scott, I'm not that stupid. I flush it down the toilet and go to Roger's room.

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**A/N: **Love it? Loathe it? Go slower? Go faster? Click that button! :)


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